


another star denies the grave

by kalypsobean



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Painplay, Purgatory, Sensation Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2014-01-06
Packaged: 2018-01-07 18:52:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1123186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalypsobean/pseuds/kalypsobean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>an <a href="http://insmallpackages.livejournal.com">insmallpackages</a> gift for "Benny/Dean, intimate kink with a sprinkling of fluff"</p>
            </blockquote>





	another star denies the grave

Dean's muscles are so tense that it hurts to move, sometimes, right when it's time to move quickly, to run or fight or to catch his breath. It's not the same for Benny, or apparently for any of the things they're killing or hiding from. Most of the time he can hide it, and it's not like he's not improving, reflexes getting faster and his traitorous muscles getting stronger and torturing him more.

There aren't such things as day or night in Purgatory, just times when it's quiet and times when danger lurks in every half-formed shadow. Normally quiet's when he sleeps, a scant dreamless nap stolen from the land of eternal night terrors, but he feels like he's just woken up and there's no getting comfortable on this bed of rocks. 

"What's wrong, brother?" Benny says, back from washing the dirt from his hands and face. In response, Dean stretches, feeling all the small cuts and abrasions sting as he moves, pulling at the barely-formed scabs, and the deeper ache of being bone-tired and listless. He doesn't have to talk; Benny knows. It starts with a massage; Dean leans forward and lets his arms hang loose between his legs, as relaxed as being poised and within reach of his weapon allows. Benny's hands are rough and strong on his neck, his fingers press in and the pressure is first painful and then wonderful as he twists his hands from side to side. The pressure works itself away from Benny's touch, fleeing from him as if he was the monster, but Benny's hands follow it. Dean shrugs his jacket off at Benny's gentle tug, spreading it over his lap to hide the shaking in his hands and the tension between his thighs. Benny works on his shoulders and then, just when Dean thinks he might be able to lift his arms over his head, his back. His methods never change and Dean finds a rhythm in it, starts breathing almost in time with the press and motion of Benny's hands.

He could get used to this.

It turns into something else just as it gets to the point where it would be awkward, if Earth rules applied here in this no-man's-land that is them at this moment; Benny's touch turns to long and even strokes that Dean finds almost comforting, but for how they target each bruise and draw the pain out of his soul, bring it all to the surface so it coats him like a second skin. He doesn't heal the way the others do, so he carries it all within him like it's the only thing holding him to the ground; Benny's teeth graze his neck, and for a moment he wishes that Benny would bite down and suck it all out, but they're human teeth marking him, those are blunt and torn nails that scratch at his chest, that's a sun-warmed body against him with only their shirts between their skin.

"Rest, Dean," and all the other words slide off the thing that hangs between them, that ties them together, holds them apart, reminds them that they can never be. Dean focuses on the weight of Benny around him, the pain that his touch brings, and finally sleeps, a dreamless sleep stolen from the time they have here where the other things don't matter.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from 'The Memory Remains' by Metallica


End file.
